Think Again
by Bingo7
Summary: You'd think being the daughter of General Beric and Lady May would mean I would be at the top of society. You'd think being around eligible bachelors all my life would give me an advantage into them liking me, or me liking them. You'd think I'd be beautiful. Nope. Think again. Stand alone sequel to It's Not That Easy.
1. Parsley

**Chapter 1: Parsley**

"Forward, march!"

Tramp, tramp, tamp, they march before me. Armor clanks and limbs remain properly stiff. When David passes by my post on the fence between the pasture and the training field, he winks at me with the insolence of a soldier. Oh, wait. He _is_ a soldier.

I shift my feet to a higher rail and peer beyond the footmen down our rocky hill where our citadel sits and I can just make out the tallest tips of the village roofs. The heat of the day has just dipped beneath its peak, but I doubt the soldiers can tell. Their only world is the well trodden field where my father, General Beric Douglas, drills them over and over in the art of marching, formation, swordsmanship and first and foremost obedience.

"Halt!"

With the speed of a squirrel, they stand perfectly still at attention. My Papa surveys them critically. I can already guess who will receive his reprimands. Sir Henrick never picks his feet high up off the ground; he has always been a sluggard that way. Poor confused Sir Jacob has his sword on the wrong side, he always has trouble remembering. And silly Oliver is always just a few seconds behind the others in following the orders. A second too many. If Papa did not see the wink, David will come off clean, a first in a long time.

He does, and I slip off my post to congratulate him. The other knights are relaxing their aching limbs, conversing among themselves, or approaching my father for further instructions.

"You lucky dog," I say.

"You lazy cat," he responds. "What prompts you to sit up on your tree all day and watch us sweat in the sun under your father's command? Does it bring you some sadistic pleasure?"

"Endless," I reply.

"My lady!" Oliver sprints over to us in his full armor and prostrates himself on the ground. Without looking up he declares, nearly shouting into the turf, "Your beauty surpasses the stars and your tender youth inspires—"

I whack him upside the head and skip away before he can retaliate.

He sits up, a fake scowl on his face. "Oh, it's you. I thought you were Christine."

"Might as well as mistaken me for my uncle, the king."

Christine, my sister, and I are about as opposite as sisters can be. She has all the right curves, and is neither too short nor too tall. Her hair is like our mama's, dark, curly, unruly, wild, beautiful. She got her wide, dark eyes from mama, too. Although three years older, I am a couple inches shorter than she and still have the frame of a ten year old, straight and scrawny. My wavy hair is dusty blonde and my eyes are a stormy grey. Neither of my parents know where I inherited my odd looks. I don't look like the Evifian I should.

Even though Mama is only half Evifian, she looks like one. She tells us that during the war Evifians were looked down upon and she had to hide her guilty hair in a handkerchief. Papa said he never hid his nationality, hence his fist fighting skills. Papa is full blooded and has the same thick, dark hair with a tinge of auburn. His skin is a deep tan from sun and birth. Mama says that's what makes him so handsome.

Orlee, my older brother, who is a spitting image of Papa, has finally matched him in height, but not quite bulk. He says I am really a tabby cat spewed from a fireplace and disguising myself as a human. He is always talking magic. Still, ever after everyone referred to me as Tabby.

"All Hail his majesty!" declares Oliver and again prostrates himself before me. He sits up for a moment. "What does your mother, Lady May, call him again? Oh yes." He falls flat on his face, arms outstretched. "Hail Charlie! Hail most royal of ice cubes!"

He is such a tease. He never takes anything seriously and has made it a point to be my personal annoyance. I can't help but smile as I try to make him stop. Although he is a knight he is only a few months younger than I. When I first met him two years ago, he was horrified to find that I did not have any younger brothers. Before I hardly knew his name he had deemed himself the one to fill the void.

"He's not such an ice cube anymore," I retort, finally getting a good aim at his head. My uncle, King Charles, is well known for his rather…frosty personality.

"All hail the _melting_ ice cube, Charlie, then," he replies and gets off the ground. "Come on, Tabby, give me a hug."

I back away.

"Ha," says David. "It'd be like embracing the steaming stove in Lady May's kitchen. You're sweaty, and your armor will hardly cushion her."

I'm startled when someone wraps their arms snugly around me, and I am enveloped in sweat, body odor and a burning presence. I struggle, but it's no use. David and Oliver are on the verge of laughing. Finally, I sink my teeth into the offender's arm; just hard enough to have them spring back. But they don't. Instead, I'm being scooped up like a baby and thrown over his shoulder.

"Hey!" I shriek. I recognize the dusty pants, worn boots, and the patch in the brown tunic. But mostly I know the sturdy, tall, comforting form of my papa. I know what to do. I slide my fingers down to his lowest ribs and begin to tickle him. He has to laugh and eventually puts me down because he can't stand it anymore.

"Hardly…fair," he growls. "You need to trim your claws, kitten."

Only he can call me that.

"Won't help," I reply.

He chuckles and tugs at his newly acquired beard. He dares grow one only once in a blue moon. Mama gets after him every time he does. I actually like it. It scratches and scruffs me when he hugs or kisses me on the cheek, but I like it.

He suddenly turns on David and Oliver. "Back to your posts, men. Conversing with beautiful maids is not part of military procedures. Focus."

David and Oliver have been around for so long they are like family, but on the field Papa treats them like soldiers. He believes in discipline. They obey, like good soldiers, but David winks at me one more time. It's what he does to show he's still watching out for me. He is another brother, but older, more mature. He is older than Orlee, even. I teased him mercilessly about being such an old bachelor, until he married a milk maid last summer.

"Tabby," says Papa, "Any idea what your mother is brewing in the kitchen?"

I shake my head. "Haven't been in there all day. She kicked me out when I spilt the oats bucket." He stared at me, waiting for an elaboration. "I tripped."

"Before I forget, your mother wants you to go to the market for some things. Here's the list," he hands me a wrinkled scrap of paper that had been sitting in his pocket all day. "You might want to get extra since she'll be thinking about the new recruits."

"New recruits?" I am instantly interested. "We are getting another batch of soldiers, Papa? When?"

"They are scheduled to be here tomorrow morning."

"What are they like?"

"More nobles," he sighs. "They're all a bunch of green sticks."

"That's what you call all new recruits, Papa."

He grins. "Aye, I do. And when I send them out again they are…"

"Soldiers," I sigh and say in my best Papa voice, "Just soldiers. It's the actual battlefield that makes a warrior."

He pats me on the back. "That's my girl." Then he struts off to boss around the green sticks some more.

We aren't a real army training place. Papa only instructs about a hundred fifty men at a time. Half of them are poor regular men who need to learn in case the Crown recruits them for a real war. Dillian insists on having their population ready for combat instead of frantically trying to turn their citizens into warriors in a month's time before the enemy arrives. Dillian isn't at war. Our last war was with Evif more than twenty years ago. However, there are always rumors and the possibility is always there; even more so now, with more than gossip filtering from the east. King Ashton of Therind has sent some very rude ambassadors and the tensions between the people on the border are snipping away to thread thin.

The other half of Papa's men are noblemen who are receiving special instruction to be leaders. They will go on to be the sergeants, majors, and captains in the real army. My uncle, King Charles, is sensible that way. Although the noblemen have a right to those titles and positions, he refuses to give it to them unless they've been properly trained. The kings of Dillian in the past have suffered from rich idiots who wear a plume in the helmet and not a whit of sense underneath it.

As I walk back across the pasture towards the estate, I pause to stroke away the flies from Smudge, my horse. His only reply is to push me away as he continues to press his nuzzle in grassy turf. He's the cheekiest horse in the history of horses, and _yes,_ I am well versed in the history of cheeky horses.

I grab a basket from the kitchen and start off for the town since dinner fixing time is plodding around the corner and Mama would be unhappy if I was late. She dislikes tardiness. It's late May, but many farmers have imported from warmer countries when our own garden has not quite produced. I look at the short list. By the looks of it dinner tonight is basil soup topped with tomatoes and dipped with spiced bread. I smile. Mama has some famous recipes and this is one of my favorites.

Douglasdale is small, just shy a thousand persons, but well stocked with all walks of life to keep Papa busy with crime and us well salaried with modest taxes. Still, Papa, the most independent man in Dillian, only keeps the most necessary size of staff. No excess. Mama enjoys command over the kitchen and employs Christine and me for most tasks, including shopping. The market is full of local farmers most sponsored by Papa in some way. They gather around the town square crowding each other for room and prominence, even though it is rarely a bustling place like the cities.

"Well, hello there, you are certainly a pretty one." The farmer I approach leans forward, the previous boredom void in his face. He must be older than Orlee and his beard has his lunch in it, beans by the looks of it. Ew.

"Thanks," I say flatly. "Do you have any more tomatoes?"

"For you? Always."

"And everyone else?" I wonder as he begins to pull some of the red vegetables from his secret stash.

"Welll…..you can only accommodate so many."

"Humph. You mean you can only accommodate pretty young girls who give you the satisfaction of making yourself appear charming and attractive. How very expansive you must think your special consumer circle is."

He appears slightly confused and I take the moment to examine the product, handling each one.

"You assume so much."

"Are you denying it?" I select half of the ten he has laid before me. I snap the correct amount of coins onto his counter and say, "The others are squishy. Speaking for my fellow dainty damsels, they won't be impressed."

He was probably thankful I left before he had to answer my question. Parsley, basil, and oregano are next, so I wind my way through the market looking for a good herb station and ignoring those who try to catch my attention. I find an old lady intently knitting away, sitting behind baskets of dry and fresh greens and herbs. As I nose my way through her baskets I'm startled to see how superior they are to anything I've ever seen. No faults whatsoever. I glance at the old woman and find that I don't recognize her.

"What's your name, ma'am?"

"What's your reason?" she returns in such a quick manner I barely catch the words. She doesn't look up and her hands don't slow. Click, click.

"Curiosity."

"That killed the cat."

"Satisfaction brought it back."

Click, click. Her needles are just as fast as ever.

"As a tabby cat I suppose you _would _know cats have nine lives." Her reply is somehow condescending. I would have bristled if I had not been surprised at the fact that she knew I am referred to as Tabby.

"You know who I am?"

"I know _of_ you."

Suddenly, I don't want a conversation. "I have a list of things I need. Basil, parsley—"

"Do you think you are as pretty as your sister?"

I roll my eyes. Obviously she knows more than just random gossip.

"I don't think about it."

She suddenly stops knitting and looks up at me. Her face is etched with deep wrinkles and her hands are slightly shaky, but somehow her eyes seem eternally young. "Ah, but I think you do. Every girl experiences a bout of jealousy and concern about beauty. It is in your nature."

"Not mine. My sister is beautiful in her own way, and I am attractive in mine. I am asking about your parsley."

"I am talking of beauty."

"Your parsley is beautiful, which is why I wish to buy it."

She stares at me for a moment, as though trying to decide whether she wants to sell or continue the absurd topic of beauty. Was she so obsessed with it because she had lost hers to the slow tick of time? She removes her eyes from mine and busies herself with scooping up herbs into small sacks. Breathing a sigh of relief I list off the needed herbs and she works with the speed of a bee in spring.

"You are the Baron's daughter, are you not?"

Apparently she could talk while working. Oh, dear.

"Yes."

"Everything at your disposal, no doubt."

"I try not to take advantage."

"Spend a lot of time with the soldiers, obviously," she appears to be speaking to herself still. I remain quiet, hoping she will finish soon so I can go about my business. "Never had a worry or regret. Probably thinks herself above the tittering crowds of most damsels who are desperately concerned—"

She stops abruptly and hands me the little baggies. I take them and begin to rummage in the purse as she names her price. Just as I place the coins in her gnarly hands she closes her long fingers around mine. Her grip is surprisingly strong and her gaze is freakishly unnerving.

"Beauty is thine, though belief decline. Breadth before birth and the start of the heart will unbind the blind."

She releases me, and the broken tension causes me step back a bit. I stare, still perturbed, at her as she scuttles back to her knitting. Strange old woman. No doubt she thinks herself very clever for acting so freakish. I half expect her to begin petting a black cat that would come from nowhere.

I shake myself, remembering Danny's motto that people are unique, and we should let them be unique. Still, I always had it in mind that the uniqueness did not involve ranting to innocent girls, grabbing their hands and mumbling nonsense when all they wanted to do was purchase some parsley.


	2. Charming

**It's hard to write when Nat King Cole is singing because my characters keep wanting to jump up and ask each other to dance around an ordinary setting when they've only just met.**

**Chapter 2: Charming**

When I arrive at the castle I slip directly into the kitchen. Mama is at the counter vigorously pounding at a lump of dough that will eventually be transformed into a beautiful braid of puffy bread dappled with butter and spices. Her specialty. There are already half a dozen finished loaves sliced and ready to be served. I place the basket away from her masterpiece of a mess and watch her for a moment.

"Did you get everything?"

"Yep."

"Oh, good. I had heard that tomatoes were a little scarce this year or simply useless."

"I managed."

"We really need to extend our garden. Your papa is grouching about the costs."

"It wasn't much."

"It adds up."

"Come, on, Tabby! Those men are calling out for food!" a voice sang out.

I look up as Christine skips into the kitchen. Her long dark curls are flying out of her braid and she dashes them away. She is adorable.

"They aren't men," I say, "They're boys."

"You'll change your mind when you see the new recruits," grins Christine and she emits an excited giggle.

"The recruits are here? I thought they weren't coming til tomorrow."

"They came early!" declares Christine and does a spin, then trips a bit with a laugh. "Oh, I'm so excited! Even you'd agree they are pretty handsome and mature, Mama."

"I will do no such thing," retorts Mama. "After all, I'm married to your father and he outdoes them all. You know they're just a bunch of noisy boys who consume nearly more than I can make. Oh, hot sauce! Take that pot off the stove, will you, Tabby? It's boiling over!"

I smile and dash to rescue the soup. I serve it up into bowls and Christine piles the bowls, bread, and butter on platters to carry out. Once Mama has the cooking under control she serves up some more and I take a couple platters out. Thankfully the door has no handle and I can nudge it open with my hip. When Christine does it, it's attractive and womanly. I always feel like a stick barreling against a board. It's funny thinking about it.

Christine was right. There are about a dozen new faces that crowd about the same table. Christine is at the end smiling and seeming to try to look at everyone at once with her bright quick eyes. One of them shows his teeth in a broad smile and she blushes. I shake my head and head straight to where David and Oliver are sitting. Oliver is staring at the new table, but I can tell he's actually watching Christine. Everyone knows he's crazy about her, including Christine, though she doesn't take it seriously.

"What's this grub?" asks David.

"I thought you'd be eating your wife's cooking," I tell him as I slide a bowl over to him.

"She visiting her parents down in the village so I figured I could risk Lady May's concoctions."

"You better not let her hear you," I say with a smile. "You know she's considered the best cook in the land."

David shrugs as he plops his bread into his soup. "It's a good enough substitute for Bessie's miracles, I guess."

I glance over at Oliver who is still staring as he slowly stirs his soup. I can tell what he is thinking, so I say, "What do you think of the new recruits, Oliver?"

He grunts and moves his focus to his food. He stuffs a spoonful into his mouth and mumbles, "Bunth f rith dadies."

"Translation, please," laughs David and thumps Oliver on the back.

"He thinks they're a bunch of rich dandies," I clarify. Serving in the mess room of soldiers had taught me exactly what males are saying when they are busying their mouths with food. Oliver nods and stuffs more food in.

I glance over at the table. Yes, they are wearing nicer outfits, but many recruits arrive in their finery before lowering their standards for the army. First impressions are always important. However, it appears they are nicer than usual. These are sons of noblemen. What had prompted them to join the army? Second sons perhaps? Or adventure? No doubt they thought they could win fame and honor by entering battle. I wonder if they know they will mostly be learning how to pick up their feet and bundle an efficient trail pack. Papa starts everyone, even the officers, with the bare basics. I gather up my empty platters and head for the kitchen.

By the time Christine and I have served all the men (about eighty), it is time to reload the bowls and take them in for seconds or meet the demands of specific requests. Only soup, this time! More bread! Salter is empty! We have only one other maid who assists us, so the boys keep us running around. Christine takes care of the new recruits mostly, but at one point she is busy and one of them catches my apron before I hurry into the kitchen with a batch of dirty dishes.

"Is there more bread?"

"There's always more bread," I reply. "How much do you want?"

"Another round for this table. It's amazing."

Of course it is. It's Mama's.

Mama is just cutting up a steaming loaf when I swish in. Her face is flushing from the exertion and heat of the kitchen, but her dark eyes are shining. She loves this, the rush and demand for her to prepare food always thrills her. She is in her element.

"Are they close to finishing?" she asks irritably, even though I know she never fears of a lack of food. There are always leftovers when Mama cooks for the soldiers.

I nod. "Half of them have already left. And a half again are just talking and draining the wine bottles."

She nods and I take away the loaf of bread. As I set the bread down and pause to watch the hands reach for slices, I take a moment to see how accurate Christine's glowing description is. Yes, they are all very attractive, solid from plenty of rich food, yet brawny from exercise. One of the men is leaned back in his chair with his green hat cocked carelessly on his gold curls. He catches my sweeping gaze and grins with amazing charm.

"So, another lovely server. Where's the other one? Tina, was it?"

"Christine," I reply. "She's my younger sister." I know I say this last part a bit protectively. I always do.

He laughs. "You two look nothing alike; how can you be sisters?"

"Well, we have the same mother and same father, so we are sisters. That's how it works."

"I thought General Beric and Lady May were Evifians. Or looked like them, anyway."

"They do."

"You don't."

"Are you questioning my mother's honor, sir?"

He actually lost his composure as he stuttered, "No…just…"

"Do you want me to whip out a pedigree chart like the one you have for your prize horse?" I suddenly laugh as his face continues to look stricken at my intimidating tone. "That's just how I am, soldier. I'm the salt in a bunch of pepper." That's how Mama put it. "And you, you look like you come from good stock. Who are you?"

He returns to his charm. "I'm Edmund."

"Edmund? That's it? No title? Not even a last name?"

Now it's his turn to laugh. "You didn't strike me as the kind who cared."

"I'm not. I'm the kind who's curious."

He grins and I can't help but notice how white his straight teeth are. He has a nice smile. OK, he has a very attractive smile. "Very well, I will appease your insatiable curiosity. I am the eldest son of Duke Trent Veranes. My father thinks I am an irresponsible brat who is spoiled and can't do anything for himself. So, once I become a good officer under the hand of your father, then he will bestow the whole of his inheritance upon me. Satisfied?"

"For now."

He chuckled again. "Then it's your turn."

"I'm Tabby. I hang around the soldiers and make fun of how they fail or succeed and ensure they never go hungry. My parents insist I spend my time in studying and getting smart, but I'd rather not. I ride horses and I never want to leave this estate."

"Never? You aren't much for travelling and adventure then?"

"I've travelled around before. Nowhere is near as exciting as right here."

"What do you study?"

I am startled by the new voice but don't show it as I turn to the young man who addressed me. He has a smooth, high-cheekboned face and is very well dressed. He is staring at me with bright blue eyes and for a moment I forget the question.

"Stuff," I say stupidly with a shrug. The men listening laugh, including Edmund.

The young man looks only briefly annoyed before smiling as well. "I suppose that equates to your learning being so comprehensive it is difficult to pinpoint a particular subject?"

"Basically. I'm a history admirer and I do brush up on politics so I can comprehend when my Papa speaks."

Laughter again. Apparently Papa's trait of being obsessed with politics is already well known to the newcomers. I grinned openly now, catching Edmund's eye as his appreciation and yes, admiration, shines through. I notice that his eyes are an intense emerald. I've never seen anything quite like it before. Maybe his hat is emphasizing it a bit. Thankfully, my observation of the man's eyes is cut short when Christine appears at my side, a large jug of mild wine on her hip.

"So, I see you've found my charming sister," she grins and I immediately notice that she is talking to everyone, but her eyes are on Edmund. I should have guessed. She always goes for the top.

"That is something you two share," replies Edmund cheerily. "I don't think you got your charm from your father, though."

Another round of laughter. Christine joins in. I only smile thinly. Only I and my siblings can truly poke jibes at my Papa, and it nearly offends me that this tenderfoot would take such a liberty. Just nearly.

"He has no use for it in the army and his undisciplined green sticks," I point out when the din dims down. "I dare say none of you shall be so charismatic after a few months here. Your lady friends will be quite disappointed when you return rough around the edges."

Edmund's sparkling eyes turn directly to me. But it is his blue eyed, well dressed companion who speaks first, "Is that so, Lady Tabby? Is that why all the other men in this mess hall have a perpetual bored look upon their faces? How unfortunate for _them_."

"Sir Liam speaks truth," comments Edmund his eyes never leaving mine. "However, I promise that a few months from now I shall be just as charming as I am now, perhaps even more so." His eyes shoot around the table like a farmer throwing seed. "Who's with me?"

Sir Liam is the first to accept the challenge, as well as a couple of the other men who think they aren't males if they don't accept a challenge. The others say they don't care. I can't stop from grinning. Men—they are either eager to preen their own feathers or don't give a whit. I notice that one young man has been listening intently the whole time but never says a word.

"Who's to be the judge," asks Christine. "When such a trait is so based on opinion?"

"True," I admit. "Christine here would declare a tree stump charming if she were in a laughing mood."

"Would not!" She tries to sound indignant, but I know better.

"Then you, Lady Tabby, must act as the judge. After all you set the challenge. Say, five months' time?" Edmund is all confidence.

"You'll regret saying that," I grin. "Three months' time."

He laughs his bright laugh that matches his eyes. "Very well. I agree. Lady Christine, would you kindly ensure that we do not miss the date?"

"Gladly. I shall place it on my calendar as the day Tabby is proved wrong." She is grinning at me and I roll my eyes with a shake of my head.

"So, then," says Sir Liam. "The bargain is set. What shall be the prize?"

"Prize?" I repeat. "Ha. I give no prize to my Papa's men."

"No exceptions?" wonders Sir Liam now his eyes are on me in a very intense way that I can't help but wonder about.

I shake my head and grin wider. "I haven't found any reason to make an exception."

"She speaks truth," affirmed Christine. "It'd be easier to squeeze milk from a horse than a compliment from Tabby." She is smiling her sweet smile as she shifts her weight. She chooses this moment to set the jar of wine on the table and naturally all eyes focus on her.

"So, then," says Sir Liam again. "Logically speaking as her opposite _you_ would be one to bestow benefits?"

"Oh, well," Christine is flustered. Well, she _acts_ flustered, but I know better. "I don't know…"

"It's set!" declares Edmund cutting her off with a dashing grin, which I'm sure causes her to blush with delight. "You shall also be responsible for presenting those who win with a prize. I can't think of anywhere else to place this trust, other than your capable… lovely hands."

Christine laugh lightly. I rolled my eyes. He is certainly the charmer. "It isn't much of a duty, since there shan't be any prize to give out in three months' time," I tell him, my eyes taking in Sir Liam as well. They both smile with confidence. I notice the quiet young man is smiling as well, but it is more of amusement and agreement. He is not looking at anyone, but is studying his cup.

"We shall see, Lady Tabby," replies Sir Liam. "Three months time in your presence would naturally make anyone want to brush up on their charm."

"Probably because they begin to doubt their own ability," I reply with a smirk. "And quit calling me "lady." You're only allowed to use that term if you catch me in a silk dress." I nearly skip away before anyone can reply and head to the kitchen. There are mounds of dishes to do and Mama shan't like doing them on her own.

It isn't long before Oliver comes in to help. During his first year he was so unruly and disobedient that Papa made him do dishes duty. He actually ended up liking it and pretty soon became a regular even though he was often the ideal soldier. Today he slinks around me where I stand with soapy water up to my elbows, and begins to dry the already clean pile. He says nothing. I realize he is still thinking about the new recruits and probably did not appreciate my being so friendly with them.

"They aren't that bad, Oliver," I tell him.

"Of course they aren't," he replies sourly and shortly.

I flick a bit of soap onto his arm. "Don't be a pout. You act like this every time a batch bound for leadership comes in. Christine flirts with everyone."

"It isn't Christine."

"Then what?"

"It's you."

I arch a brow in surprise and give him a look that demands he continue with a proper explanation.

"You're nice to them all, but this batch. You seemed…different."

"How," it is more of a challenge than a question.

"You…stared more. It seemed there was more feeling behind those comments. It was just…different." Before I can retort he adds, "David noticed too, so I'm not just spewing smoke here." He pauses. "I think you're starting to be attracted to men, Tabby." He suddenly grins his silly Oliver grin. "I guess it's just unnerving to see my sister attracted to something other than a horse."

"I'm not attracted!" I squawk. "You two are just paranoid." To prove my disgust I plant a sudsy palm into the side of his face.

He laughs and jumps away with his drying rag, which he raises in a position as though to whip me. He never does, but it's still a sign for war. He seals his fate when he declares, "Tell me, _Lady _Tabby, which of those gorgeous dandies shall catch you in a silk dress?"

I fling a handful of soapy water at him. He steps back quickly but still gets splattered with it. He continues to dodge my arsenals and suddenly he moves in. I try to duck, but with his rag he wraps it swiftly around my mouth and chin. With one hand I try to claw the damp cloth away from my laughing mouth and with the other I pick up a cup full of dishwater and dump it directly on his head and face.

He squawks and jumps back, releasing his hold.

"Tabby! Oliver!"

Our heads snap to the right. Mama is standing in the doorway where she returned from setting out food for us. She is glaring, but I can see her lips are twitching.

Oliver stands to attention and points a finger at me. "She started it."

"He deserved it," I assure her.

Her smile breaks through. She can never get mad at Oliver because she thinks he's as cute as a cupcake. "Go eat, Tabby, before it gets cold. Oliver, I think there's an ocean you need to clean up in here. I don't want to be swimming in my own kitchen."

As I pass Mama, Oliver bats his eyelashes at me with his silly Oliver grin. I stick my tongue out at him.

* * *

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	3. Gray

Thank you** Winged booklover**,** Bluepanda800**,** Athena Goddess of the Wise**,** ElfineStarkadder**,** Sourcherry96**, and** DustyPhoenix **for reviewing. Ya'll are fantabulous.**  
**

**Chapter 3: Gray**

"Ha!" says Orlee as he sits back, gloating at his accomplishment.

I squint at where his pistachio shell has landed and sigh. "It's not fair, you know. You always win 'cause you're a boy."

"Are you saying boys are born with better spitting skills?"

"Yes."

"Huh. Maybe that's why we're better at kissing, too."

"What?" I scrunch my nose at him. "Stop it, Orlee. You're thinking about Rosemary again, aren't you? I don't want to hear about it."

He laughs and pops another nut into his mouth. I pick through the pile of them that sits in my apron lap. I like looking for the ones with big openings so I can slip the nut out without breaking the shell. We are sitting up on the barracks so we can overlook the whole valley. Papa's estate is up on a hill, strategically placed, and surrounded by a lovely scene. Orlee and I have been coming up here with a bag of pistachios for years and years; probably before Christine was born, even.

Sometimes we aim at the soldiers who are stationed below us, but they aren't there today. Our castle is not very big, so Papa doesn't keep a constant guard. We haven't had any reason to be completely protected. However, sometimes he has the recruits practice keeping watch overnight. That's their least favorite. David usually slips out since he's married and lives in the village, but Oliver is often chosen. Papa says he needs to work on his focus, and he probably does.

"Christine raved to me about the new recruits yesterday," comments Orlee. "I was too caught up in a book to see for myself. Can you tell me a description without sighs and any version of the word "attractive?"

"Oliver says they're nothing but a bunch of rich dandies," I say flatly, smiling within as I remember.

"Of course, he did."

"They are all rich, and they know it. They're confident and are the kinds that have a lady or two on each arm. I can imagine Papa getting frustrated with a few of them for their pretty mouths and looks." I grin. "Don't worry, they'll drop their charm before long."

"Don't they always?"

I tell him about the contest, Edmund and Sir Liam. He laughs.

"You might actually be disappointed, Tabby."

"What? Why?"

"Well, Edmund Veranes is actually quite notorious for his charm. He is quite the lady's man. When I went to court he was all the ladies could talk about. Apparently his eyes cast a spell over half of them." He shakes his head remembering. "Even Aunt Alyce was impressed with him. I'm actually quite surprised he is here. He doesn't seem the soldier type."

"If he can win a lady's heart, perhaps he can win a battle."

"They aren't the same thing."

"Well, I guess I wouldn't know, since I have experienced neither."

Orlee glances at me with confusion. "Eh? You've got a lady's heart."

"No I haven't. I'm not a lady. I'm an awkward girl who's got a sharp tongue and you know it."

"Well, yes, but… you've got a heart that lots of fellows would love to capture and keep."

"No," I insist. "That's Christine."

Now he is openly staring at me. "Are you comparing yourself to Christine?"

I pick at my pistachios. "Nobody can deny it. She's the gorgeous one. She's adorable and her every movement makes the boys stare. She takes after Mama and is the prettiest thing around. She's not only pretty, but nice and sweet and makes everyone feel good. Next to her I'm…"

"Stop it, Tabby," Orlee says sternly. He shakes his head in disbelief. "You've never said anything like this before."

"I guess I didn't notice before," I mutter. "Which is dumb, 'cause it's so blatantly obvious."

Orlee sighs. "I'm hoping this is just some weird stage you're going through that will eventually lead to you finding a man and settling down. Don't compare yourself to Christine, you're not her. You're great in your own way."

I give a disbelieving snort and say dryly, "Thanks, Orlee."

"Hey, look," he says in a way that makes us both forget the conversation. I peer down to the road that leads up to the castle. There is a wagon pulled by one trudging horse. It's driven by a young man and beside him sits an older figure with a wide-brimmed hat. I almost don't see the significance then suddenly give a squeal of delight.

"It's Danny!"

I jump to my feet and head for the ladder. Orlee is still staring.

"I wonder if…" he mutters. I'm gone before I can hear the rest. I stop briefly at Christine's door to tell her the news before dashing off again. I reach the courtyard just as the wagon clatters in. Papa is there, grinning widely, and Mama emerges from the kitchen to stand at his side, wiping her hands on her apron. I can hardly contain myself and my feet keep shifting in some sort of excited dance.

"Tabby!" smiles Danny. He begins to get out and I run to help him. He is crippled and has to always walk with a crutch, and even that is difficult and painful. As soon as he safely on the ground and leaning against the wagon I give him a vigorous yet careful hug. He laughs and tousles my hair with his free hand.

"I didn't know you were coming!" I declare, almost accusingly.

He grins and laughs again. "Surprise!"

"Where's Aunt Lea? And Ember? And Uncle Samuel?" I ask about his parents and sister.

"Father had a business trip up north and the other two decided to go with him. So, I took the chance to come visit my favorite cousins." He shifts his feet carefully, the sweet, genuine smile never leaving his face. I understand. Travelling hurts him the worst and he is never able to journey far.

I have to step back as Christine, Mama, and Papa take a turn in welcoming him. I see Orlee standing at the doorway, but he is staring at the other man. I look too, wondering why he is gawking with such a fascinated and solemn expression.

Underneath the wide brimmed hat is a man with a long thin face and enveloped in a black sweeping cloak. The black hair on his chin is braided and even then it makes a thin string down to his chest. More black hair spills from the hat and it hangs about, long and untouched, and yet it looks so silky and familiar. I look into the man's eyes who are staring back at Orlee and I see they are a vivid dark blue…no, they are violet. The man has purple eyes. How strange. I have never seen or heard anything like it before. He smiles and the smile is full of youth and energy.

"Greetings, Orlee, son of Beric Douglas." His deep voice matches his smile.

Orlee moves his jaw as though he wishes to say something, then purses his lips.

"Tancred," declares Papa. He moves around to shake the man's hand. The man clasps Papa's hand in a firm grip and the grin is still there as he greets him in the same way.

"Who's he?" asks Christine in a whisper, standing between Danny and me.

"That is Tancred," replies Danny simply. "He is…well…he's…there is no other way to describe him other than that he is Tancred."

"Can he do magic?" I inquire next, careful to keep my voice down. This is the only explanation of Orlee being so captivated. Orlee is obsessed with magical things, and the way he is gaping at the man could only mean there is some connection between the two.

Danny smiles. "You'll have to ask him that."

I think I won't get a chance since Orlee and Papa are his main hosts. I'm content with helping Danny get settled in his customary room. After the ordeal of getting up the stairs, he sits in the large worn armchair at the empty fireplace and watches as I place all his clothes in dressers and fix up the bed for him. We have maids, but I can't stay still, and besides, it's Danny. My family has a silent competition on who can do the most things for him. Christine brought his bag up, but Mama called her off to help in the kitchen.

After protesting, then thanking me profusely for the help, Danny asks, "How have you been?"

When Danny asks this, there is no way anyone can say "fine" or anything else so ordinary or evasive. After all, when he says this simple phrase he sincerely means it and expects a real answer.

Naturally, I begin with a sigh. "Everything is mostly the same. You know, my situation with the soldiers and my family hasn't changed, but the whole air about seems different. I'm not as…satisfied with it."

Danny has no comment because he knows I have not finished.

So I spill the story of the new recruits, Oliver's remarks and my recent conversation with Orlee. I have to admit that I am feeling a little different but don't understand why now or why not.

"It sounds like life," is all Danny says.

I consider continuing the conversation, but I don't know what to say. Thankfully, as I reach the bottom of his luggage I see a change of subject. It is filled with files, papers, packages, books, and scrolls. I glance at Danny. "Are you writing a book on mathematics?"

"Oh, you can put it all on the desk. I'll sort it out later." As I do just that he continues, his voice a bit more subdued. "It's information, for Uncle Beric. Since I can't run around doing things for him, but I can sit and write and receive messages about things he wants to know about."

"So, basically you keep track of the whole kingdom?"

He smiles. "Yes, that's about it. He doesn't have time, so I filter all the news and gossip and give him the really significant stuff."

There is a light knock on the door and Mama pokes her head in a split second later. "Tabby, I wanted to let you know we'll be eating in the dining room tonight."

My eyebrows scrunch. "Does that mean I've got to get into something nice?"

"That'd be _nice_, yes. Don't worry, I'll bet Christine already has your outfit planned down to the bow in your hair."

"It'd better not be pink."

Mama smiles, "Oh, I think Christine is smarter than that." She says goodbye to both of us and then her head disappears.

"Well, I guess I'd better go, dinnertime always comes sooner than one expects when you have to think about looking nice."

"You won't need to think about it," assured Danny. "You already look nice, more than nice. Just think about all those lonely dresses looking so drab in your closet. They don't mean a thing unless you make them look good by wearing them."

I laugh. Danny can make anyone feel better about life. "Oh, all right. For the dresses' sake I shall go be nice to one of them."

I leave him be, but promise to come by as soon as I'm finished to help him down to the dining room. Tancred must be a fine guest for Mama to want to have dinner in the castle. Usually we all eat in the mess hall after the soldiers. It saves us having to clean up a whole other room and using fancy dishes. Now we'll no doubt call in for some help from the cleaning staff to not only serve the soldiers but us as well.

As expected, Christine is in my room. I didn't expect her to be jumping on my bed in her underwear, though.

"Hello, Tabby!" she declares and continues to bounce on my bed in her corset and bloomers. For some reason my bed is the fluffiest in the estate and Orlee and Christine take every chance they can to utilize its bounce abilities to its fullest capacity. Who knew goose feathers could be so fun?

"Hi, Christine," I say back. "What dress have you picked out for me this time? It's not pink, is it?"

"I haven't chosen a dress for you," replies Christine. Bounce, bounce. "I think you are capable of doing that yourself." Bounce. "You aren't nine." Bounce, roll.

I stand, slightly startled. "Then why are you here?"

Bounce. "To jump on your bed of course! I think it's gotten better since I was in here last."

"You were here yesterday."

"Hmmm…" Bounce, roll. "Maybe it was the way you slept in it last night."

"So, are you going to dart back to your room in your underwear and hope no one sees you?"

Bounce. "Or hope someone _does_." She giggles.

I have to smile. Christine can say some scandalous statements, but we all know she's just being facetious. Still, I grab a pillow and throw it at her face. "And who, shameful sister, might that _someone_ be?"

She stops bouncing and holds the pillow to her chest. "Oh, I think we both know."

"Oliver?"

"Haha," she snorts. "The poor boy would probably faint away with shock and never recover. No, not Oliver. Guess again."

I suddenly don't want to say Edmund's name out loud. Nor do I want to think about Christine and her outrageous ideas that she never takes seriously. I turn to my closet and fling it open. I randomly pull out a nice dress and toss it on the bed. Christine is instantly distracted.

"You can't wear _that_!"

"Why not?"

"It'll make you look like a pumpkin!"

An unfamiliar sting zips through me and I look down at the reddish orange dress. I suddenly realize my hand is on my side as if checking to see how big of a pumpkin I'd be.

"You'd better pick another one."

"All right," I mutter. When I face the cruel closet again I try to think of Danny's sweet assurance, but all I can really see is my incompetence at simply finding something suitable to wear. I can't ask Christine. I stick out my hand again and again draw forth a gown, hoping desperately that it will be a better choice.

"What about this one?" I ask.

"Mmmm…it's better," concedes Christine. "It'd be nicer if it had more color, but at least you won't look like a bright vegetable!" she laughs and moves away to her own dress.

Again, her words cause my nerves to cringe. I look at it. It's a dull gray thing trimmed with a white sash, and white ruffles peeking out from under the hem. I nearly groan. I am hopeless. Truly hopeless. Instead of risking another failure I, unclothe as quickly as possible and put on the dress. Avoiding the mirror, I brush out my hair and push and twist it back into my signature untidy bun.

"Tabby," Christine's tone is scolding. I stiffen, waiting for the reprimand. "Let me do your hair, will you?"

"We don't have an hour," I tell her.

"I won't take five minutes." She is already tugging out the bun and brandishing the brush in one hand. When she finishes, I grudgingly admit that hers is a much better idea. She has gathered half of my bland hair and bound it in a strip of white ribbon she found. Thankfully I do have Mama's thickness, so it looks…nice.

"Thanks," I tell her. She is adorned in a deep, bright green that brings out the gold flecks in her eyes, and when she moves in her excited bounce she looks like a vibrant vine, weaving with grace and life down the hall. We stop at Danny's door, but he is already gone. I guess Mama has beaten me to escorting him down. Ah, well.

Everyone is already seated when we reach the dining room, and I growl within. I should have known that Christine's extra five minutes would have caused us to be late. Like Mama, I hate tardiness. I sit down a little stiffly between Orlee and Danny. Orlee is too busy being intent on every word that falls from Tancred's lips to notice. Across from me, Christine smiles at Edmund as he pulls out a chair for her.

Edmund!

My mind rears up and reels around in a flurry of uncertainty. What is _he_ doing here? He _is_ the son of Duke Veranes, but I didn't think Papa would lower his strict discipline on the soldiers to allow a favor to one of them. Especially him. He smiles at me from across the table, and as I force a reply smile I only wish I didn't look like such a piece of cotton wrapped up in dusty sunbeams.

"You make that dress look happy," Danny says. I meet his eyes and see the sincerity. "Your eyes compliment it very well."

I have to smile. Danny, as always, drains most of the strain on my trembling mind.

"Danny," says Christine, "this is Edmund Veranes. His father is the Duke. Edmund, this is Danny, our cousin."

Danny waves politely. "Yes, I'd heard he was here. How are you enjoying your training, Edmund?"

Edmund grins, his emerald eyes sparkling. "Although I've only been here two days, I've found the food to be superb and the company to be both inspiring and _charming_." With this last word his eyes catch mine and I know the challenge is on his mind. A corner of my mouth lifts in a slight smirk.

"Well, the food may be superb," breaks in Mama dryly, "But at the moment it's late, and no doubt getting colder by the minute. I'd better go see what's taking Dinah." She shifts to rise but suddenly stops, and I catch the quick glance at Papa's impassive face. She slowly settles back down. "On second thought, I think I'll wait."

"A watched pot never boils," supplies Danny, and Mama smiles at him gratefully.

"While we're waiting," declares Papa, and I realize now why he wanted her to stay, "Tancred has news."

"From court?" wonders Christine. "That's where you just came from, isn't it?" Christine is fascinated by court, probably because Papa has never let her go. He says they'll corrupt her. Besides, she's only sixteen. I've never been, either, but that's because I have no desire to be stuck in a corset all day and socialize with rich people. I prefer my Smudge and soldiers.

Tancred nods. "Yes, that's where I came from, but the news is a message from the king."

"How is Charlie?" asks Mama earnestly. Papa's eyes roll and I purse my smile down. He thinks Mama calling King Charles, her brother-in-law, that nickname is ridiculous, which is probably why Mama does it.

"Very well," responds Tancred. I wonder how he can be so patient with the random questions when he has a message from the king. Messages issued from my uncle are usually kept in Papa's office and does not concern us. Why is this one different?

The suspense is heightened when the servants arrive with laden, steaming, silver platters, which shifts all the attention to food. I watch dully as they fill my plate, and look at Papa. He seems a little annoyed too, but is better at hiding it as he thanks Mitchell, his server, and picks up his fork. My gaze slips to Mama on his left. Of course she is eyeing the food critically. She only assisted in half of its development and no doubt will wish she was there for the full process. A stray curl from her perfect updo drifts to her forehead and she dashes it away. I am reminded of Christine; they look so similar and have the same endearing flightiness that adds to their charisma.

At last everyone is busy with forks and chewing, and at last Tancred states, "The king has asked that General Beric carry out a diplomatic mission to Therind to convince the king to more amiable and reasonable terms that will not result in bloodshed."

There. My first thought is how nice it was of Tancred to blurt it out without any further anticipation. My second is a complete understanding of why Edmund is at the dinner table…and Douglasdale. Christine, however, is not quite so in tune with the workings of Papa and his line of work in the political realm of Dillian.

"What does this have to do with us?" she wonders.

Papa patiently explains, "King Ashton is a very stubborn man. It will likely take more than a month to negotiate with him. Perhaps two."

"But the soldiers!" she protests. "Who will train them in your absence?"

I think it dawns on her just as Papa says it, "Orlee and Sir Edmund Veranes will."

Edmund tries to shift modestly but catches my gaze, and I can see he already knew this was coming and that he is quite pleased. Christine is more than pleased; she is impressed and tells Edmund so along with a question on his thoughts.

I turn away from his murmuring reply to ask Papa, "How dangerous is it?"

Papa looks at me sharply and out of the corner of my eye I see Danny staring at his food. Mama has been stabbing the same piece of broccoli for the past three minutes since Tancred's declaration. Papa clears his mouth and says cheerily, "I'll tell you when I find out."

_If you get a chance to tell me,_ I suddenly think. I feel like stabbing my broccoli, too. The ambassadors of King Charles are not expected to fulfill this mission because they would nearly instantly be killed. Nobles of as small a consequence as an insulted kingdom will not convince King Ashton, nor will they unite Dillian should war come. They need someone strong in all areas, persuasive, nationally significant, and willing to take tremendous risk. They need Papa.

"When do you leave?" questions Orlee. He has taken the news like a soldier, accepting his duty without complaint and already planning his responsibilities. He does not love the arena like Papa, but he is nearly as skilled. Apparently Edmund is, too. I sneak a peek at him again. Veranes. _Major _Trent Veranes is one of three Dillian commanders under Papa and the king. I don't know of an army officer who would allow his son to reach the age of twenty-one without being thoroughly skilled in warfare. Edmund is at least three years past this. Why did I not realize this before? Did Orlee?

"Well, that gives us some time," says Mama, trying to sound bright. Oh, drat. I missed the departure date. I glance at Danny with a pleading look in my eyes. He must have known I had spaced because he spreads out two fingers beneath the table rim so only I can see, then curls his fingers into an O. Two months.

"Time for what?" asks Christine, again displaying her naivety. No one judges her. She is still very much like a child.

"Time for Sir Edmund to learn how to become a commanding officer and trainer," I say lightly, still slightly snubbed that he did not mention his experience when I first met him.

"Nonsense," says Papa just as Edmund opens his mouth to respond. "Sir Veranes is a very talented young man and I think we may learn of his father's tactics. I want to begin tomorrow on a coalition of our techniques, your father's, and a deep study of Therind's system. Orlee, I expect you and Danny to supply _that_ information."

"Yes, sir," they respond simultaneously. They are preparing for war, at the dinner table. I look anxiously at Papa. Is he expecting the negotiations to fail for the worse? No, Papa expects nothing and plans for everything; that is why King Charles chose him.

I push my plate away and stand up abruptly. Danny glances at me, startled, but I ignore it just as I realize everyone is giving me the same curious glance. I flush. It was not my intention to cause such a stir. I try a reassuring smile, not my forte, and say, "Smudge and I have a date. Excuse me?"

Papa waves his hand grandly. "We would never keep you from such an appointment. A disappointed Smudge is a dangerous Smudge." I cherish the secret smile Papa and I share before I dash off from the extremely confused and curious look Edmund is drilling into me.

Smudge belongs in the small stable just north of the kitchens where all the other family mounts are situated. But Smudge is cheeky and cannot be contained in a stall. He likes to romp in the large pasture right next to the training grounds with the horses used by the soldiers. Soldiers like Edmund and Sir Liam would naturally be taught the techniques of war by horseback, since they are expected to command from that position. Papa mostly instructs in the use of infantry, but sometimes, if he sees potential, he'll train a batch destined for the cavalry flanks.

Whenever the horses are used in training Smudge likes to show off his freedom by running around and kicking the grass up playfully. It makes the stiff horses restless and their riders confused. See, he is cheeky. I named him Smudge because he is a dapple gray and white paint, as though someone leaned on a letter written in charcoal and smeared the letters—hence the smudge. He's beautiful.

The sun is lounging between the distant hills when I coax the bit into Smudge's mouth with the help of sugar cubes. Unfortunately, since I'm so short, I have to use the fence to mount him. Someday I'll learn to get on without any help. As of now I'm working on riding him without a saddle. His sleek, well groomed back makes it hard to stay erect, especially when he trots. I have to keep my legs pinched against him, without letting him think I want him to go faster.

"Where's your saddle, miss?"

I nearly fall off from astonishment but grasp Smudge's mane just in time. He stops and bobs his head, wondering at my confusion. I turn around and see Sir Liam sitting on the fence. The Hot House is behind him, and soldiers are filtering in and out. He is still finely dressed and he looks out of place propped up on the fence. Then I realize _I_ look out of place, too. In my haste to get away from the dining room and my flurried thoughts I didn't even changed. So here I am, daughter of a Baron in a nice dress, with my legs sprawled on either side of a horse without a saddle. Sir Liam's blue eyes are still waiting for an answer.

"In the barn," I say, as Smudge walks toward him. "That's where the saddles belong. Haven't you been given a tour of the place yet? Or have you forgotten everything?"

"Ah, yes the quick blurb from Platt. I do remember him waving his hands in different directions and pinning location names to the floundering."

I bristle. Platt is David's last name. He is often the sole welcoming team for the green sticks.

"Perhaps you could give me a refresher course, Tabby."

"_Sir_ David's "blurb," as you call it, was a memory test. Too bad you failed. But I'm sure it's not the first test you'll fail. Even you'd agree that it's hardly charming to downsize a lady's friend."

He regards me for a moment then replies quietly, "You are absolutely correct."

His sincerity unnerves me and I feel awkward for being so harsh… and for being so densely gray. I scrunch my brows mentally. Why do I keep referring to myself as gray? I have never done so before. Perhaps it is because Sir Liam's eyes are so blue.

Thankfully he continues, distracting my thoughts, "Perhaps you will issue me a list of your friends so I will not make such a mistake twice."

I snort. "That's easy; my family, the staff, Oliver, David, and anyone else who is closely related to them in any way. Now you will have to be observant, as a soldier should be, and not just to the ladies." My old confidence is surging back as my tone ends with a mocking hint.

He sighs, and I think it is dramatically mocking. "This is the most challenging assignment I have received yet."

"You've only been here twenty-four hours," I point out. "Have no fear; your new officers will make sure the challenge level will increase." My tone is slightly bitter and I frown. This is the first time I think about the incidents in the dining room. Smudge is expert at hiding disappointing memories.

"New officers? What do you mean by that?"

I tug Smudge's reins firmly to the side and press my heels into his side. We trot away without a reply. I'm not the one who has to be charming.


End file.
